


Branded

by draculard



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Consensual Underage Sex, Dom!Ba'kif, Exhibitionism, First Time, Gentle Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Orders, Orgy, Overstimulation, Possessive Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Spiderweb Bondage, Underage Drinking, Virgin!Thrawn, consensual voyeurism, sub!Thrawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: It's exceedingly rare for a cadet to be invited to a private party with the upper brass, but then, Thrawn has always been rather exceptional.
Relationships: Ba'kif/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Branded

_You always bring wine to a party,_ Ziara told him, so here Thrawn was, standing on the doorstep of a nondescript house outside the military base on Naporar, with a bottle of twenty-ch’un sparklewine in his hand. He hoped it was expensive enough. He hoped it was a decent, non-embarrassing brand; he’d never had it before. He had enough demerits at Taharim already without adding the risk of alcohol experimentation.

Hell, he hoped it _tasted_ good. He’d never even _tried_ sparklewine before. Things might be a tad different here, but on Rentor, he wasn’t even old enough to drink.

He hit the door release again and tried not to sweat. It would be different if somebody other than General Ba’kif had invited him, he told himself. He wouldn’t be nervous in the slightest then; he would be his normal calm, confident self; he wouldn’t be afraid to rub elbows with the Fleet’s upper brass.

Although, now that he thought about it, if it hadn’t been Ba’kif to invite him, Thrawn wouldn’t have come at all. This thought brought an unbecoming grimace to his face, and that’s how he looked when the door abruptly opened and he found himself staring down a middle-aged officer he recognized from the Fleet’s holiday party the day before.

“Ah,” she said flatly. Her eyes raked up and down Thrawn’s body in blatant disapproval, lingering for a moment on the cheap tooled bars on his collar that marked him as a cadet; he desperately hoped there was nothing wrong with his uniform. He could think of nothing more mortifying than being reprimanded for improperly polished boots at a prestigious party.

“Young, slim, and eager to please,” the woman said drily. “You must be Ba’kif’s. Come in.”

...What?

Thrawn stumbled over the dootstep, his nerves suddenly jangling so high that he almost fumbled the wine. He peered around the officer’s small house, where twenty or so Chiss — all tall, fit, and in peak military condition — stared back at him with levels of interest that set Thrawn’s teeth on edge. The officer’s words replayed in his mind so loudly that he couldn’t hear anything she said after that. 

He scanned the room and tried not to show how out of place he felt. A table in the corner displayed so many bottles of wine that — he counted them quickly — he must have been the only guest at the party to only bring one. His cheeks warmed at that, and it took everything in him not to shuffle his feet in embarrassment as he approached the table and set his bottle of sparklewine down among the rest. He eyed the labels, trying to discern from the paper quality and vineyard names how expensive they must be. 

Behind him, Thrawn heard low murmurs and a rustle of fabric. More near to him, there was a soft footstep — bare feet on a carpeted floor — and as he felt a broad, warm hand fall onto his shoulder, his heart leapt into his throat.

He turned, his heart hammering, and found himself standing chest-to-chest with General Ba’kif. Thrawn looked up at him with wide eyes; there were few people taller than Thrawn in the Fleet, and Ba’kif was one of them — and he used his twelve centimeters or so of advantage to loom over Thrawn every chance he got. He was dressed in civilian clothes, casual clothes that accentuated his muscles in ways even the Fleet uniform didn’t allow for, and his silver-tinged hair was soft and unstyled, strands of it falling over his forehead as he smiled down at Thrawn.

“Glad you could make it, Cadet,” he said.

Swallowing hard, Thrawn bobbed his head. Over Ba’kif’s shoulder, he could see two of the other officers sitting on the sofa together, their chests bare and their shirts discarded on the floor.

His brain stuttered. His gaze got locked on the two officers against his will, his face going blank as one officer trailed a hand over the other’s abdomen and then tucked his fingers into the waistband of her skirt. He was hallucinating — only he’d never hallucinated before, and he hadn’t taken anything that he was aware of. So he was drunk — only he hadn’t had anything to drink. He was—

Warm, gentle fingers touched the underside of his chin, guiding his gaze back to General Ba’kif. Heat rushed to Thrawn’s face just as Ba’kif pressed a cool glass of wine into his palm. He wrenched his chin away, heart pounding, and took a studious sip of the wine, finding the uncorked bottle.

“Ah,” said Ba’kif as Thrawn examined the label. “You’ve never been to an officers’ party before.”

There was an undercurrent of delight in his voice, as if he’d known right from the start what he was pulling his subordinate into. Thrawn’s face darkened and he tried to scowl, but his blush wouldn’t go away, and his eyes kept trailing past Ba’kif to the nude couple on the sofa. The others were milling around, some talking in low tones, others gathered around a man with a length of rope which he’d strung up on some sort of frame in the center of the room.

Thrawn didn’t know what to say. He sipped his wine, the unfamiliar taste setting his tongue ablaze. Ba’kif’s brand, he knew without asking. He remembered what the woman had said to him at the door and suspected that if he even _tried_ to drink somebody else’s wine, he wouldn’t be allowed.

The thought sent a thrill through him that he couldn’t explain. He imagined Ba’kif stopping him, grabbing his wrist in an iron grip, pulling him close so that his lips brushed Thrawn’s ear as he said, _You don’t drink anything unless I tell you to._

Blush intensifying, Thrawn stepped away from Ba’kif and surveyed the floor. The officers were all much older than him, and now that one couple had undressed, the others were following — though the groups were by no means limited to two. He watched the officer who’d greeted him undress a captain he recognized from Ziara’s new ship while a third officer, this one from the Defense Fleet, stroked himself through his unbuttoned pants.

Stroked himself? Thrawn hid his face in his wine glass, taking another long sip. What the hell had he gotten himself into here? This couldn’t be legal. The Fleet had strict fraternization rules — strict _decency_ rules, in fact, which dictated legal terms for warriors’ moral and private lives that ordinary citizens felt no need to abide by. Even having a threesome was punishable by court-martial. He glanced nervously at Ba’kif and found the general staring at him with undisguised desire.

Something in Ba’kif’s eyes flickered. He stepped forward, guiding Thrawn away from the crowd and into an isolated corner of the room. His hand was like a branding iron on the small of Thrawn’s back, and he found he quite liked the sensation.

“I assumed your comrades would fill you in,” said Ba’kif lowly, a genuine note of apology entering his voice. “You’re free to go if you wish. No repercussions, no judgment.”

Mutely, Thrawn shook his head. His grip on the wine glass was tight; across the room, the man with the rope had built something that looked almost like a massive spiderweb, and the guests were examining it with a level of interest he couldn’t quite understand.

“You’re sure?” asked Ba’kif.

His hand was still on the small of Thrawn’s back, burning through the fabric of his clothes. 

“I’m sure,” Thrawn murmured. His blush grew worse; he could feel Ba’kif studying him, but didn’t glance his way. "I've—" He hesitated. "I've never done anything before, sir."

Damn it. He'd meant to say he'd never done anything like _this_. He closed his eyes, mortified, and felt Ba'kif's hand brush against his elbow.

"I know," Ba'kif told him, shifting closer to Thrawn. "And rank doesn't exist here, Thrawn." His fingers closed around Thrawn’s tunic hem and as Ba’kif lowered himself to the floor, he took Thrawn with him, until they were sitting cross-legged and leaning slightly against each other on the carpet. Thrawn found he’d already drained his wine, and realized perhaps his flush wasn’t entirely due to embarrassment or arousal. “Everyone here has certain tastes,” Ba’kif continued, his eyes trailing over the spiderweb. “I suspected you might share those tastes as well.”

Thrawn said nothing. When Ba’kif’s eyes cut toward him, he felt his pulse spike and couldn’t force himself to look away.

“You like being told what to do,” Ba’kif said pointedly. 

Thrawn couldn’t answer. Ba’kif was rather biased, he thought, since he’d only ever been in a position to give Thrawn orders, and as a cadet, Thrawn had little choice but to obey. But he felt heat pooling between his legs at the suggestion nonetheless. A smile flickered on Ba’kif’s lips, knowing and confident and in control.

“Stay here,” he said to Thrawn. “I’ll get you some more wine.”

He left before Thrawn could protest, leaving him practically gasping for breath. He placed his palm against his forehead, his trousers decidedly tighter than they were a moment ago, and glanced around the room to see if anyone had noticed how — not _flustered_ , but — well, okay, how flustered he was.

Furtively, he glanced left at the group of people making out on the floor not far away. A man around Ba’kif’s age lay spread out beneath his companions, his arms stretched languidly above his head. A woman licked a path from his collar bone up to his armpit; another woman’s hands trailed down between his legs, teasing his entrance while a second man knelt between the first’s spread thighs and started to undo his belt.

Thrawn swallowed, glanced away. In the center of the room, he saw that Ba’kif had taken a detour, stopping to talk with the man he’d noticed earlier — the man building a spiderweb out of ropes. As Thrawn watched them, they turned and glanced his way with identical, predatory smiles that made his cheeks burn and his cock jump.

It was the wine, he told himself. He had to be careful; if he didn’t watch himself, he’d get embarrassingly drunk before the night was over and he’d never live it down. He—

Ba’kif crossed the room to him and pressed a fresh glass of wine into Thrawn’s hand. “Drink,” he ordered.

Thrawn drank. He recognized the taste of Ba’kif’s brand. Once he’d swallowed, he glanced quickly at Ba’kif’s face and then away again, biting his lip. “This is an orgy,” he said softly, incredulously.

Amused, Ba’kif reached up and rested his palm against Thrawn’s cheek, radiating warmth. “Bite your lip again,” he said.

Thrawn’s heart stuttered. He searched Ba’kif’s face with wide eyes, embarrassed by the command yet strangely compelled at the same time. He tried not to think about how he must look — how stupid, how wanton, oh Ziara would have a _field day_ if she could see him now — and caught his bottom lip between his teeth again.

His lips must be swollen from biting them, he thought, watching a subtle layer of heat rise to Ba’kif’s cheeks. And stained dark from the wine. He was still trying to decide if he could tolerate that mental image of himself when Ba’kif’s thumb brushed his lips and he decided it was just fine, actually.

Warm lips pressed against the corner of his mouth. Thrawn’s eyes slid closed. He obeyed without question when Ba’kif whispered to him to lay back, not even thinking about who might be watching him (or more importantly, the state of the carpet). Strong fingers encircled his wrists and pinned them above his head, and then, with his lips hovering just over the sliver of Thrawn’s neck that was visible above his uniform collar, Ba’kif whispered, “Stay.”

A thrill shot through Thrawn, going straight to his cock. He stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes and held still, not moving in the slightest as Ba’kif’s fingers found his uniform fasteners and took them apart. His collar was peeled back, revealing the flushed, vulnerable skin of his neck, and Ba’kif set to it at once. His teeth found Thrawn’s pulsepoint, nipping and sucking and laving without giving Thrawn even the slightest moment to adjust.

He heard himself gasping. He felt himself squirming beneath Ba’kif’s hands, unconsciously breaking the command to stay still. Ba’kif’s grip tightened on his wrists and he pulled away slightly, staring down at Thrawn with smoldering eyes and an amused smile until Thrawn was finally able to hold still again.

But that didn’t mean he could catch his breath. 

Ba’kif’s hands slid beneath Thrawn’s tunic, his fingers trailing over Thrawn’s nipples and shifting the fabric of his clothes until they rasped against his skin in a feeling so sensual it was almost a kiss. It set his nerves on fire; by the time Ba’kif pulled his tunic open all the way, Thrawn was moving helplessly again, leaning into every brief touch and tantalizing caress, arching his back and hips in a desperate attempt to pull Ba’kif closer to him, to feel his lips trailing from Thrawn’s nipples down to his navel, where his tongue dipped inside, and then down to his--

Ba’kif unbuttoned Thrawn’s trousers not with his hands but with his teeth, earning himself a gasp from Thrawn that was embarrassingly close to a moan. He felt Ba’kif’s hand sliding under his thigh to palm his ass, silently urging Thrawn to lift his hips. He did so mindlessly, his mouth open, little panting gasps escaping him all the while. 

As Thrawn lifted his hips, Ba’kif tugged his trousers down and bent his head, his open mouth pressing against the front of Thrawn’s underwear in a heated kiss. His tongue found the spot of pre-cum that had soaked through the fabric over Thrawn’s cock, tasting it just for a moment before he pulled back again.

Only when Thrawn was fully naked on the floor — his trousers and boots discarded, his tunic tossed away — did he recognize the sudden chill that swept over his body and realize Ba’kif was no longer there. He opened his eyes and saw Ba’kif standing over him, fully clothed and composed, his lips curved in an amused smile as he stared down at Thrawn.

Gradually, Thrawn remembered where he was. He lifted his head, saw some of the other officers staring back at him — some clothed, some not, some touching themselves, some only watching. A cold flush shivered down his spine and then heated up again as it reached his exposed cock, making him twitch against his own thigh.

“Stand up,” Ba’kif ordered. “I’d like to try something.”

Thrawn almost didn’t obey. He was stuck on the people staring openly at them, embarrassment and inexplicable arousal warring inside him. Slowly, he grabbed his glass of wine off the floor — where Ba’kif had placed it safely out of the way — and sipped it as he stood, draining the last few intoxicating drops. 

He’d barely moved the glass away again when Ba’kif captured his lips in a kiss. Thrawn moaned into his mouth, tried to chase him when he pulled away, was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. Smiling down at Thrawn, Ba’kif tilted his head toward the rope structure in the middle of the room.

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice genial and casual, as if he did this all the time. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Thrawn stared at the spiderweb, uncomprehending. He could see leather cuffs on each line of rope and realized belatedly why the structure was there. To tie people up. To make them helpless, where anyone could touch them, where anyone could see—

“You’d make a beautiful display for everyone to study,” Ba’kif whispered, his eyes glittering. He leaned in close, his hand finding Thrawn’s bare hip and pulling him close harshly, until Thrawn’s cock was pressed against Ba’kif’s thigh. The fabric of his trousers was thick and rough, and Thrawn couldn’t help but rock his hips, pressing himself closer — again and again, until he realized he was rutting against Ba’kif where everyone could see him and he tried desperately to get himself to stop.

“Come,” Ba’kif said, resting a palm against the small of Thrawn’s back. “I’ll take care of you.”

Thrawn allowed himself to be led. He stepped into the lowest set of cuffs on the structure with Ba’kif’s help — warm, broad hands supporting him by the elbow, by the hand, and then clutching Thrawn’s hips and maneuvering him into place against the ropes. Ba’kif secured Thrawn’s hands first, lifting them high above his head and off to the side, cinching the cuffs tight enough to almost hurt. He saw to his legs next, until Thrawn was splayed out on the web, unable to move and — as Ba’kif had promised — on display for every officer in the room to see.

There were more eyes on him now than ever before, he realized. His breath hitched; he saw the officer from earlier, the one who’d looked him up and down in the doorway and said, ‘You must be Ba’kif’s,’ watching him with cool interest and a steady flush.

And then Ba’kif leaned forward, his lips finding Thrawn’s throat and his hands finding his cock, and Thrawn was helpless to see or hear or feel anything else. 

He heard his gasps turn to moans as Ba’kif’s kisses turned hotter and wetter, exploring over every part of his body — his teeth clipping down on the shell of Thrawn’s ear, his tongue pressing flat and warm against the crease of his thigh. Broad, callused fingers trailed down the sensitive sides of his abdomen, gripped hard at his hips, edged over and around his balls to scratch lightly against the stretch of skin just behind him. Ba’kif’s fingers touched the tight ring of muscles between Thrawn’s legs, exploring gently at first, then pushing their way firmly, insistently inside.

Thrawn’s head tilted back; his hips bucked, pressing his cock into Ba’kif’s thigh, driving down as much as he could on the fingers inside him. He would have fucked himself into Ba’kif’s hand without a hint of embarrassment if he could; the tight bonds of the web prevented him. Instead, all he could do was gasp and moan and surrender himself to the tightness winding up inside him, barely cognizant of the eyes watching him, of the clear saliva making his lips glisten and slicking his chin, of the keening noises and helpless pleas slipping involuntarily from his mouth.

Ba’kif knelt down, his hand resting just for a moment against Thrawn’s taut stomach, then slipping down until it brushed the head of his cock. He stared up at Thrawn, eyes glistening, looking every bit the commander he was.

“Come for me,” he ordered.

And then his lips slipped hot and wet and all-consuming over Thrawn’s cock, all the way down to the base, and Thrawn was helpless to obey. He came at once, a wave of tension moving through him and making white lights explode in front of his eyes; he tore thoughtfully at the cuffs, fighting to get free, to tangle his fingers in Ba’kif’s hair and pull him closer even as that tension pulled his spine tight and unleashed a warmth unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

When he came to — minutes later — he could feel Ba’kif cleaning the seed from his cock with his tongue as Thrawn shuddered through the last seconds of released. Thrawn opened heavy-lidded eyes and stared out at the officers watching him — watching Ba’kif take him apart.

Watching Ba’kif claim him as his own.

When Ba’kif undid the cuffs, Thrawn collapsed against him with a content sigh, utterly boneless, and decided he liked the staring — liked the orders — liked everything about it. Wanted to do it again, later, when he had the strength to stand without his legs shaking so hard that Ba'kif had to pick him up and carry him away. They sat together for over an hour after the fact, Thrawn naked and curled against Ba’kif’s side, hardly cognizant of the other partygoers and their games. He could feel Ba’kif’s heartbeat syncing with his own; he made no protests when Ba’kif gently dressed him and pulled away from Thrawn with a soft, gentle kiss.

On his way out the door, Thrawn couldn’t help but notice that no one had drunk his twenty-ch’un sparklewine.


End file.
